


Our Lives Erased

by lordhellebore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, BDSM, Background Character Death, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Master/Slave, Non Consensual, Public Nudity, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an England where Voldemort has won the war, Wizarding slavery, which was abandoned centuries before, is reinstated. Former enemies of the regime like Hermione and Luna have to adjust to a life as the slaves of Death Eaters. But, as Hermione has to learn, not everyone is what he seems to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Lives Erased

There are lidless holes where his eyes should be, each crossed by scars reaching far into his cheeks and forehead like a thick, red X. He’s too thin – even from this distance, she can make out ribs and vertebrae between welts and bruises – and he seems barely able to stay on his feet, stumbling again and again as he is dragged along. More than once she thinks that now, surely, he will fall.

“Luna?”

A soft tug at her leash makes her realise that she slowed down, and she walks faster again.

“I’m sorry. It’s…look, over there.”

Remus’s eyes follow her gaze, and although his mask makes her unable to see his face, she can perfectly imagine him press his lips together like he does whenever he forces himself to stay calm.

“Try not to stare,” he then murmurs so only she can hear it. “The Dark Lord wouldn’t be pleased if he noticed or somebody told him. He might think you could need similar treatment, and it’s hard enough to not make him suspicious. He already thinks I’m too lenient with you.”

The words make her shiver despite the Warming Charm that is protecting her naked body against the cold of late autumn, and she hastily turns away from the pitiful sight. For the rest of the way down Whitehall, she tries to ignore the other participants of the parade, as well as the crowd at the sides of the street – wizards and Muggles, subdued and scared by the display of power they’re forced to watch at the second anniversary of the Dark Lord’s coming into power.

Finally, they arrive at their destination: Trafalgar Square is as crowded as the streets they passed; nobody dared to stay home and disobey the orders to watch the Death Eater parade. The Dark Lord is waiting for them on a podium with some other Death Eaters – again, the masks prevent her from seeing their faces, but she is sure that one of them must be Minister Malfoy.

When the parade comes to a standstill in front of the podium, the Dark Lord raises his wand.

“Morsmordre!”

As the Dark Mark blooms in the sky like a deadly moon, hushed murmurs from the crowd dying down within seconds, he begins his speech.

.-.-.-.

After the speech, there is a meeting at Buckingham Palace, the Dark Lord’s residence – the royal family was first relocated and then murdered quietly.

Luna has been here a few times now and knows the procedure: she and the other slaves will be in a waiting room as long as the meeting lasts; then there will be a banquet with them sitting quietly at their masters’ feet while they’re eating.

When the door of the waiting room closes behind her, she immediately looks around to see who is here. There must be around thirty other slaves; some are sitting alone, some huddled in pairs or groups of three or four, shivering and clinging to each other. Most Death Eaters aren’t kind enough to cast Warming Charms when they take their slaves out for occasions like this. Luna hates being here, hates all official occasions – she doesn’t mind being naked, or being led around on a leash, but it’s terrible to see all those who’re worse off than her.

On the left side, she can make out a shock of red hair – it’s Percy Weasley, she realises, comforting a crying woman with soft, soothing words. She takes some steps into the room, and it doesn’t take her more than another minute to discover what she’d been searching for.

He’s pressed into the corner furthest away from the door, almost entirely hidden in shadows, head lowered, arms tightly wrapped around himself. With a few steps, she is by his side, kneeling down next to him. Today is the first time anybody she’s in contact with sees him outside his Mistress’s house; Luna herself hasn’t seen him since she’d been taken prisoner two and a half years ago.

“Neville?”

There is no reaction. From here, she can see that his collar is too tight; it’s crusted with blood, cutting into his skin, the flesh around it raw and swollen. 

“Neville? It’s me, it’s Luna.”

Nothing.

Carefully, she reaches out and touches his arm. He flinches and goes stiff immediately, but doesn’t try to move away. Of course, Bellatrix would have trained him to keep still. His skin is cold and he’s shaking, and all she can think of doing is to pull him close and wrap her arms around him so that the Warming Charm will affect him as well. He doesn’t resist, and after a while, very slowly, she feels him relax against her. 

“Luna?”

It’s a whisper so low she can barely hear him. How long hasn’t he spoken? Remus told her that Bellatrix would punish him for every word. 

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Can…” He draws a deep breath. “Can you kill me?”

It doesn’t surprise her – others have asked the same before – but for a moment, she wishes she had kept away from him.

“No, I…no. There’s nothing here to do it with.” 

The waiting room is bare of any furniture, anything that would allow them to hurt themselves. Moreover, there are spells on all slaves which prevent them from using physical violence against each other or themselves. 

His hand approaches her face, trembling fingers brushing over her nose and cheek.

“I’m sorry, Neville.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

He’s still stroking her cheek, he’s trying to comfort her, she realises, but it makes her feel only worse. Without thinking, she takes his hand away from her cheek and moves it to her lips instead. He freezes when she presses a kiss to his knuckles, then starts shaking again when her lips touch the edge of one of the bulging scars on his forehead.

“It won’t take forever,” he finally murmurs. “One day she’ll go too far. I just hope it’s soon.”

She doesn’t know what to answer, and the rest of the time, they wait in silence, until the Death Eaters come to get them for the meal.

.-.-.-.

“Luna! Oh, thank God you’re here!”

It’s only seconds after she has entered the room in the dungeons of Hogwarts that Luna is hugged tightly, and although her back is still slightly sore from the previous night, she doesn’t resist. It takes a while before Hermione lets go of her, looking at her with a wavering smile.

“I’d told me to pull myself together, but…”

Luna shakes her head, smiling back at her.

“It’s all right.” 

It’s only understandable – Remus told her that she’s the first friendly face Hermione would see since she’d been captured three months ago, a few days after the regime’s second anniversary.

“Come.” She touches Hermione’s arm and gently steers her into the direction of the coffee table, where a pot of tea and some biscuits are waiting for them. “Let’s have some tea.”

They pour the tea and drink a few sips in silence, watching each other – they haven’t met since Luna’s capture. Hermione looks tired; more than two years of constant hiding left their mark.

Finally, Luna puts her cup down.

“And how are you now? How is he treating you?” There’s no reason to beat around the bush; she has long given up being anything but blunt about these matters.

Hermione’s fingers clench around her cup. She doesn’t want to talk about this, Luna can see it, and she would like to be able to comply, to pretend this was nothing but two old friends having tea. They hadn’t known each other well during their school time, but in the course of the war, with Ron dead and Remus confined to the camp for Dark Creatures, and with the Order of the Phoenix constantly getting smaller, they’d become much closer. 

“Hermione…” 

She has no choice but to press on – Luna has no illusions about the motives behind Snape allowing her to visit. She doesn’t know him well enough to determine whether or not one of his reasons might be to allow his new slave at least a little comfort by letting her see a friend, but the main reason certainly is so that Luna can make Hermione understand her situation. It’s something she has done with others before.

“Listen,” she begins again, gently taking the cup from the other woman’s hands and putting it on the table. “I know you don’t like this, but I need to know. I’m worried about you.”

Hermione nods reluctantly.

“It’s…it could be worse, couldn’t it?” she says in the end. “I mean…he could hex me, or hit me. He...he could…” she closes her eyes, drawing a trembling breath. “There are worse things than to sleep on the floor beside his bed. And…there are worse things than having to go to dinner with him each day and…and kneel next to his chair in front of the entire school, _naked_ …”

She trails off with a sob, and Luna leans forward to take Hermione’s hands into hers. She would like to hold her again and offer her more comfort, but it won’t help Hermione in the long run. She has to learn to cope, and the sooner she begins, the better it will be for her.

“It’s _terrible_ ,” Hermione chokes out. “Wizarding slavery is barbaric, it’s mediaeval! It was outlawed _centuries_ ago! I can’t –”

“It’s reality _now_!”

At Luna’s sharp words, Hermione falls silent, staring at her from wide, tearful eyes.

“I know it’s hard,” Luna goes on a little softer. “But we can’t change it. All we can do, all _you_ can do is adjust and live with it.”

Hermione pulls her hands away. “It’s easy for you to say that!” Now her tone is resentful. “Snape told me that your…owner, or however you want to call him, treats you perfectly well.”

“Yes,” Luna agrees. “I’m incredibly lucky. And so are you!” It’s obvious that Hermione wants to interrupt her, but she doesn’t give her the chance. “You think you’re undergoing terrible hardships just because you don’t sleep in a bed and have to show yourself without clothes once a day. But you said it yourself – there _are_ worse things, and they’re happening. Not to you, but to others.”

Now Hermione is looking down in her lap, hands clenched into tight fists.

“There are much worse masters than Headmaster Snape. I saw Neville some time ago. He’s with Bellatrix.”

“God, no!”

“Yes.” She wishes she could spare Hermione this. “When I saw him, he was barely able to walk. And he’s blind, Hermione. She gauged his eyes out; I don’t even want to imagine how. So, the next time you feel sorry for yourself, think of him and ask yourself if maybe you shouldn’t feel grateful instead.”

Hermione is crying again, but this time she composes herself quickly, drying her face with a handkerchief before she looks back at Luna.

“You’ve changed.” 

“I know.” She is hardly the dreamy girl anymore that she was during their school time, and neither is she the woman Hermione knew during the war. “It’s the only way. You’ll have to change as well. There is no place for idealism in this world.”

“I don’t think –” Hermione wants to protest again, but Luna cuts her off.

“It’s either that or death, your master told you that, didn’t he?”

The other woman nods mutely. Luna knows that the Dark Lord was particularly wary in her case – one of Harry Potter’s closest friends.

“Did he also tell you that it was he who convinced the Dark Lord to let you live?”

There is no answer for some moments, and when it comes, it’s a stunned whisper.

“You call him…”

“The Dark Lord, yes. And you better do the same; it’s in your own interest.”

Hermione seems to need some time to digest it. “It sounds…logical,” she finally admits. And then: “He didn’t tell me. Snape.”

“Maybe you should keep it in mind. He doesn’t have to be your enemy.”

“Maybe…”

Hermione pours herself more tea, drinking with a thoughtful expression, and for several minutes, they sit in silence. It’s a first step, and Luna is glad about it. Hermione could as well have outright rejected what she is telling her. But then, she is too intelligent to close her eyes to the truth for long.

“I didn’t even ask who your…master is,” Hermione finally says.

Luna smiles. “As I said, I’m lucky. It’s Remus.”

“Remus!” Hermione looks incredulous. “But… it’s true? He really is a Death Eater? I’d heard only rumours, but I couldn’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“I don’t understand him.” Hermione shakes her head. “He always was on our side, I can’t believe he’d betray –”

“Don’t.” It’s astonishing how naïve Hermione is, and Luna can barely imagine that she, too, used to be like this. “Are you even listening to yourself? Betray whom? The people who first let him fight for them, risk his life for them, only to let the Ministry ship him off to the Dark creatures camp because having him with them hurt their image as good guys?” She’s angry now – this is one of the few subjects about which she finds it hard to stay calm. “Nobody moved one finger to help him. Oh, you and some others protested how it was unjust, but that was it. Nobody made any attempt to actually do anything, and you prevented me from trying. And now you wonder why he chose the side of the people who freed him after years of being held captive there?”

Hermione looks flushed; she looks away with an abashed expression.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just…don’t dare judge him. He’s not the person you knew. You can thank the former Ministry and your friends from the Order for that.”

There is an awkward silence, then the door opens and Snape appears in the doorway.

“Luna. It’s time for you to go home.”

“I’ll be there in a second, Master Snape.”

He nods and closes the door again, and Luna turns back to Hermione, once more taking one of her hands.

“It was good to see you. I’ll ask Remus to ask Headmaster Snape to let me come again, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Thank you.” Hermione manages a smile, squeezing her hand tightly. “I appreciate it – and all that you said today. You certainly gave me something to think about.”

“I’m glad, then. Too many of us died already, and I don’t want you to be one of them.” She gets up, letting go of Hermione’s hand. “Don’t think of the life you had, the people you knew, or the person you were. They’re all gone. Only concentrate on the present.”

For this time, there is nothing more to say, and Luna makes for the door. It won’t do to let Snape wait any longer.

“Luna?”

She turns back. “Yes?”

“How do I do it? How do you do it? How can you cope?”

She wishes there were an answer, but there isn’t. Some can never do it, and she hopes with all her heart that Hermione will be different.

“You’ll have to find your own way. I had to do the same.”

.-.-.-.

_The banquet takes forever, Death Eaters talking and laughing, their slaves waiting silently at their feet, not daring to look at each other. Luna isn’t hungry at all, but she knows it would be foolish to deny the bits of food Remus offers every now and then. It’s a symbol of her worth to him and, like the Warming Charm and her soft velvet collar, tells other Death Eaters that he won’t take kindly to her being mistreated._

_Finally, late at night, the meal comes to an end, and Remus Apparates them home to the small house the Dark Lord gave him as a present at his victory. They make for the bedroom as soon as they arrive, both undressing in silence. They’re both tired, but Luna knows that sleep won’t come easy this night – not after seeing Neville._

_Remus is sitting on the edge of the bed, and she sits down on the thick carpet next to his feet, putting her head on his knees. It’s something that comes natural by now – it’s required in public, and they don’t see a reason to change it at home. They’d been dabbling in similar dynamics right from the start of their relationship at the beginning of the war._

_For a while, he strokes her hair, then his hand stops._

_“The whip?” he asks quietly._

_Luna nods. “Don’t be careful. Don’t hold back.”_

_She looks up to face him, and although he looks sad and exhausted, there is also a glitter in his eyes that tells her he’ll enjoy it, and in a different way from how he used to before his time in the camp._

_“Ropes too, please. The rough kind, no silk.”_

_“All right.”_

_Remus gets up, and while he gets the whip from the wardrobe, Luna positions herself face-down on the bed, arms and legs spread._

_“Incarcerous!”_

_Luna grits her teeth as suddenly, thick ropes wind themselves tightly around her ankles and wrists, tying her to the bed-posts._

_“Ready?”_

_She nods, then closes her eyes and presses her face into the pillow, and only moments later, the first violent blow hits her back. As he promised, Remus doesn’t hold back his werewolf strength, and the whip breaks the skin immediately, warm blood running down her sides. The soft fabric of the pillow muffles her pained yelp, her muscles tensing, the ropes cutting deep into her flesh._

_Soon after, the second and third blow follow; her back is burning, each touch of the whip sends a flash of red-hot pain though her entire body. She doesn’t go on counting, concentrating only on the pain, and then, finally, her screams turn into sobs, her face now as warm and wet as her battered back. Remus doesn’t stop yet – were they Muggles, this would be impossibly dangerous – and she embraces the comfort of not having to think any longer, the comfort of feeling nothing but the pain – the pain that makes her able to scream and cry when all the other things she sees each day have long stopped having this effect._

_She’s still crying when Remus stops and spells the ropes away, barely noticing that he climbs on the bed as well. His hands encircle her ribcage and she’s pulled up to her hands and knees before his hard cock enters her from behind, her back pressed tightly against his chest. The contact hurts almost as much as the blows did, and she groans with pain between sobs as he thrusts again and again, large hands closing painfully around her breasts, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh._

_There is a growl and another sharp pain at her shoulder as he bites down hard when he comes, but even now, she’s still sobbing weakly, and she can’t stop when he lets go and performs several Healing Charms on her back to close the wounds. All she will feel tomorrow is a slight soreness and itching._

_“Luna…”_

_She’s pulled close again, her face resting against Remus’s chest as he starts caressing her hair gently. It takes some time until her sobs die down, and when she finally falls asleep, the last thing she hears is Remus’s voice._

_“We’ll do something for Neville. I don’t know yet what or when, but I promise I’ll think of something.”_

.-.-.-.

When Luna is gone, Hermione lies down on the couch, trying to think about all that she heard. What stuns her most is the way Luna has changed – beside her looks, the woman Hermione met today has hardly anything in common with the Luna she knew. She seems matter-of-fact, almost harsh, resigned to the way things are now, and Hermione can’t imagine becoming like that as well. How is she supposed to simply forget her former life, her friends – and herself?

But she doesn’t know what else to do but try taking Luna’s advice to heart, either. She _is_ a slave, _is_ at the mercy of a Death Eater, in a world she can’t escape. The metal collar around her neck is hexed to prevent her from using magic as well as physical violence, and in the unlikely case that she would manage to get rid of it and run away, and even to get into the possession of a wand, she wouldn’t be able to leave the country. She tried more than once during the time she was in hiding, but the wards surrounding the country on all sides are too strong to be overcome. 

However much she might dislike it – it’s time to face reality: she will have to adjust, at least on the outside. Snape won’t be patient with her forever. She hasn’t told Luna the entire truth – Snape _has_ hit her a few times, hard slaps in the face when she insulted him, called him a traitor, a murderer, a coward. In her anger, she hadn’t cared about the consequences, but after what Luna told her about Neville, it is dawning on her that much worse things could have happened. 

While she’s still contemplating, the door opens, and she hastily gets to her feet. Snape enters, staring at her expectantly, his wand already drawn, like every evening.

“It’s time for dinner,” he says coldly. “Do I have to spell your clothes away, or will you finally undress on your own?”

For some seconds, she hesitates. Everything inside her is screaming at her to not comply – if she has to endure the humiliation of showing herself naked, at least she should not play along with it. Then she thinks of what Luna told her, of what reason demands, regardless of her feelings.

Hermione takes a deep breath, holding the dark gaze of the man who saved her life. Then, very slowly, she begins to take off her robe.

.-.-.-.

“We’re going out tonight. I’ve been invited for dinner, and you’ll come with me.”

As she hears the words, Hermione starts buttoning her robes again. By now, after half a year, she almost got used to accompanying Snape to dinner naked – she learnt to ignore everyone’s stares.

Snape shakes his head at her actions.

“Without clothes.”

“But…” Hermione falls silent – it makes no sense to contradict him. She is well aware that it’s considered normal for slaves to be paraded around naked not only at their masters’ homes, but also at official occasions. Snape told her so repeatedly back when she’d still been complaining about dinner at Hogwarts. Moreover, the book he gave her on mediaeval Wizarding slavery says the same.

“Yes, Master.”

It’s still strange to call him that, but she tells herself that however often she says it, she doesn’t have to believe in it. 

“Very well. Be quick, Bellatrix doesn’t like to wait.”

She obeys without a word. Bellatrix! Does it mean that she will see Neville? Although it’s warm in the dungeons – Snape doesn’t like the cold and has cast permanent Warming Spells on his quarters – the mere thought gives her gooseflesh. 

“Come along, we’re going to Floo.”

He’s always like this, giving short commands, never talking to her more than necessary. Most of the time, he orders her to stay in the small sitting room next to his living room, and sometimes, she doesn’t know whether she should be aggravated or relieved about it. He treats her like a thing, but as long as he doesn’t pay her much attention, at least she is relatively safe. Since she stopped contradicting and insulting him, he hasn’t hit her again.

The house they Floo to is large and elegant: they arrive in an entrance hall with a high ceiling covered in tasteful stucco, from where a house-elf – to her surprise, Hermione recognises Kreacher – leads them through long corridors to a brightly lit dining room.

“Severus, it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

Bellatrix is wearing expensive-looking robes, jewellery glittering on her ears and fingers, taking away the wild, ragged look she had whenever Hermione met her before. The other woman’s elegant appearance makes Hermione uncomfortably aware of her own nakedness. She doesn’t have time to feel bothered by it for long, though, for while Snape replies with similar pleasantries, she discovers another person in the room – and all other thoughts are wiped out of her mind. 

Neville is kneeling next to one of the chairs at the set table. He, too, is naked, but other than her, who is well-fed and physically unharmed, he looks close to starvation, his emaciated body covered in sores and bruises. His head is lowered, but even so, she can make out the scars disfiguring his face.

“Your little pet seems quite fascinated with my work,” Bellatrix’ voice cuts through Hermione’s horror. “Maybe I should give you some tips on how to handle her?”

“Thank you,” Snape answers calmly. “I have my own methods.”

Hermione can’t help a small sigh of relief – for a moment, she had been scared that he might accept, although she has no reason. It would make little sense for him to first save her only to then torture her like this. Instead, he’s proven to be almost protective of her lately. She has to think of some weeks ago: as they had entered the Great Hall for dinner, a student from Half-Blood House had pinched her arse as she’d walked by. Seconds later, he’d been wrapped tightly with thick ropes and hovering out of the Great Hall towards the dungeons.

“He’ll spend a very unpleasant night hanging upside down in a cell,” Snape had explained to the other students. “Anyone who thinks they can touch _my_ slave will find that I’m not inclined to share my possessions. And rest assured that I _will_ know if anybody touched her, even if I’m not present at that moment.”

“As you wish,” Bellatrix says, and Hermione quickly takes her eyes off Neville. “Let’s eat now. Kreacher outdid himself in the kitchen today.”

Hostess and guest sit down at the table, while Hermione kneels next to Snape’s chair. Although she tries to ignore Neville as best as she can, she can’t help sneaking quick looks into his direction again and again. He’s kneeling perfectly still the entire time, head bowed, fists tightly clenched in his lap.

Snape and Bellatrix talk little, and when they do, it’s about what seems to be insignificant tattle about other Death Eaters. Every now and then, he will slip Hermione small bites of delicious food, like he does during dinner at Hogwarts, although Bellatrix doesn’t seem pleased by it.

“You pamper her, Severus. She’ll thank you for it by becoming recalcitrant, you’ll see.”

His fork appears in front of her face again, a piece of chicken sitting on it. Hermione eats obediently. She still feels offended by it – it’s like she were a pet – but the more she learns about Wizarding slavery, the more she realises that she’s being treated like a valued favourite.

“I don’t think I’m here to be given a lesson about the best way to keep slaves, am I?”

“No. We have much more interesting things to discuss. But they can wait until after dinner. Would you like some dessert?”

Finally, dinner is over, and Bellatrix brings Hermione and Neville to a room entirely devoid of furniture.

“Wait here until your master gets you,” she instructs curtly before the door falls shut behind them.

At the sound of the door closing, Neville immediately feels his way to one of the corners of the room where he sits down with his arms wrapped around his thin torso, starting to rock himself back and forth gently. Hermione has no idea what to do – she’s torn between staring at him and looking away from the terrible sight. In the end, she slowly approaches, sitting down next to him.

“Neville?”

He doesn’t react, and even when she repeats his name several times, telling him who she is, she gets no answer, no sign that he is aware of her presence. In the end, she takes heart and gently touches his shoulder – only to have him freeze immediately with a frightened whimper.

“Neville, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Again, the only reaction is a whimper, and she wonders if maybe it wouldn’t be better to leave him be. But she doesn’t have the heart to do it and instead pulls him into a loose embrace, his head lying on her shoulder. Long minutes go by, and again, Hermione thinks she might have done the wrong thing – all Neville does is shake in her hold and whimper incessantly. But when she carefully tries to let go, he suddenly clings to her, thin fingers digging into her shoulder and back.

“It’s all right.” Hermione wraps her arms back around him, and he relaxes a little. “We’ll just stay this way until I have to go.”

There is no way to measure the time, but it feels like they stay in the room for at least an hour. Neville never relaxes completely, but shortly before Snape comes to get her, at least his soft whimpers die down.

When the door opens, Hermione feels torn again – on the one hand, she wants nothing more but to get away from here, to not have to see what was done to her former schoolmate any longer. On the other hand, she doesn’t want to leave him behind.

“Come along, it’s getting late.” Snape’s mouth is twisted into an expression of distaste as he looks at them. Is it because of what she does, or because of Neville’s state? She can’t tell.

“I have to go now,” she tells Neville. 

For a few seconds, he doesn’t react, but then, hesitantly, he lets go of her, and she does the same. There’s nothing else she could say, and so she gets to her feet and leaves quickly without looking back.

.-.-.-.

Back in his rooms at Hogwarts, Snape slumps down in a large leather armchair in front of the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh.

“Come, sit here,” he commands, pointing at the thick rug to his feet.

It’s the first time that he wants her with him except for dinner and at night when she sleeps next to his bed, and she’s not sure what to make of it.

When she is where he wanted her, he reaches out, and she instinctively tenses, backing away a bit.

“I’m not going to hit you.” He sounds exasperated. “I only will discipline you when you give me a reason, and you know it.” He’s right, she has to admit. “I’m not like Bellatrix. What she does…” He shakes his head. “It’s pointless. A waste.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

The question slipped involuntarily, but he only shakes his head again. “He’s her property, to do with as she pleases. Only the Dark Lord could order her differently, and he seems to enjoy what she does.”

Again, he reaches out for her, and this time, she holds still. To her surprise, his hand guides her head to lie on his knees – what is he planning? Beside the few times when he hit her, he has never touched her before. Hermione dares sneaking a look at his face; his eyes are closed, and he looks exhausted. Slowly, long fingers begin raking through her hair. After several minutes, she closes her eyes as well – she is tired, and it doesn’t seem like Snape is going to do anything but this. His fingers feel good in her hair, almost gentle. It’s absurd and wrong to think this, but after months of being enslaved, and an even longer time of hiding, alone, without anyone to talk to or offer any sort of physical comfort, she can’t help but enjoy it.

Luna comes to her mind. “I’m incredibly lucky,” she’d said, “and so are you.” And isn’t that the truth? She could be dead if it weren’t for Snape, and even if she hadn’t been killed, she could have ended up with someone like Bellatrix. She could have ended up like Neville. Instead, she is with Snape, who doesn’t seem keen on hurting his slave – on the contrary, he even protects her. From death, and from others. Whatever his motives are, and however much she might despise him for being on Voldemort’s…no, the Dark Lord’s side – Hermione can’t shake off the slowly growing feeling that she is safer with Snape than she could be anywhere else in this country.

“Don’t think I enjoy every aspect of the Dark Lord’s reign,” Snape says after a while.

She doesn’t know what to reply. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs in the end. “For saving my life.”

He doesn’t answer, and for some time they stay like this in silence, before he orders her to go to his bedroom and sleep.

.-.-.-.

A week passes quietly, then another, and another one. Snape doesn’t receive any new dinner invitations, and Hermione is glad about it. She doesn’t know how she could cope with seeing more slaves like Neville – she’s had to think about him far too often during daytime, and at night, she has dreamt of him a few times.

It might be because it’s only now that she realises how lucky she truly is, but Snape doesn’t seem as cold and distant as he used to. He still barely speaks to her, still orders her to stay in her room most of the day, but each evening, he’ll command her to sit with him like the day they visited Bellatrix.

Hermione knows she should probably mind, should feel repulsed by it, but she finds that she can’t, not really. His touch is soft and makes her think of Ron, who petted her head the same way, sometimes, before they went to sleep, and while his memory hurts, he’s been dead too long for it to truly upset her. Is it so wrong for her to have something to enjoy – especially since it will happen anyway, regardless of her feelings? 

.-.-.-.

“Hermione.”

She raises her head from his knees to look at him.

“Yes, Master?”

“I think it’s time to try something new today.”

What does he mean? Hermione is confused, then feels her face flush with heat as he pulls his robes up to his waist with a quick movement, uncovering pale, hairy legs and greyish briefs with a noticeable bulge in them.

“You didn’t think I wanted you here for nothing at all, did you?”

She bites her lip, trying to sort out her thoughts. So that’s why he saved her? That’s why he keeps her with him, why he got her used to his touch over the last few weeks?

“You…you want me to…”

“Suck me off, yes.” He takes his wand and spells away the briefs, and before she can look away, Hermione finds herself staring at his half-erect cock. 

“You owe me, don’t you think?”

When he’d undressed, she had distanced herself instinctively, and now, at his motion to come nearer again, she doesn’t move. She was a fool to believe for one second that he could have helped her for anything but selfish reasons!

“What if I refuse?”

His expression turns darker. “You won’t, if you know what is good for you. Let me tell you this once, and once only: as long as you are under my protection, you will go along with my wishes. If you think you can act up, you might want to remember that it was my intervention only that made the Dark Lord rethink his decision regarding your death. If he hears that you’re giving me problems, he might change his mind yet again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t know what drives her to do it, but instead of obeying, she gets up, looking him right in the eyes. “I was such an idiot, wasn’t I? To believe that you could think of anybody but yourself, to think you could…I don’t know, actually care about people?” 

She has raised her voice, and to her own surprise, she realises that tears are running down her cheeks. Why does this upset her so, why does she feel so betrayed?

“Because that’s what I thought, isn’t that ridiculous?” Now she is almost shrieking. “That you cared about me in _some_ way, at least a little! Or else you wouldn’t have saved me, you’d have let them kill me, or let somebody else have me and torture me! But all you wanted was a little sex slave, wasn’t it?”

“If that were the case, I could have picked someone much prettier and more compliant.”

His cool words take the wind out of her sails, and all she can do is stare at him in shocked silence. 

“I saved _you_ , because despite your contrary temper and your utter thick-headedness in some matters, you are one of the most intelligent witches I know.”

He returns her gaze firmly, and although he should look ridiculous with his exposed legs and groin, he doesn’t, and she finds herself mesmerised by his dark eyes.

“It would be a waste to let you be killed when that mind of yours can be put to use to assist me.”

She shakes her head. “I’d rather die than help you and your filthy Dark Lord!”

Snape sighs, and, with s flick of his wand, he’s fully dressed again, getting up from his armchair.

“That is the thick-headedness I was speaking of. If you were dead, you couldn’t be forced to help the Dark Lord’s cause, true. But you could do nothing to subvert it, either.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! How could I, being locked up here with you controlling all that I—” She falls silent in mid-sentence, unable to do anything but stare at him open-mouthed. If this is supposed to make any sense at all, the only possible solution must be –

“No.” It’s a barely audible whisper. “No, it can’t…you couldn’t…not after…” Again, she is unable to go on, but he seems to know what she is thinking.

“Yes,” he confirms, then approaches her and takes her arm, leading her over to the couch to make her sit down. She complies willingly – all of a sudden, her knees feel wobbly like jelly.

“But…” Hermione takes a deep breath, never looking away from Snape, who has sat down next to her. “Dumbledore. You murdered him. How could you possibly still be on our side? And why didn’t you help us during the war?”

“How do you know that I did not?” Snape replies calmly. “The fact that I didn’t do it openly doesn’t prove anything, does it? Who do you think sent you the hints about the hiding places of the Horcruxes the Dark Lord had made? And who do you think was the person who slipped you all the information on the attacks he planned over the years? If I’d openly fought by Potter’s side, I wouldn’t have been half as useful.”

“And what about Dumbledore?” she insists. “You betrayed him!”

“I did not. Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to kill him. He’d been cursed when he tried to destroy a Horcrux and would have died within a year’s time. I’m sure Potter told you about what he saw happen on the Astronomy tower.”

Hermione’s mind is racing. Harry said it had been Malfoy’s task to kill Dumbledore, but that he hadn’t been able to do it. Then Snape had appeared – and wasn’t there something about Dumbledore begging him to not kill him? No, no, that’s not quite right, is it? Harry had said that Dumbledore had pleaded with Snape. “Please, Severus” – those had been his last words. Is it true, then? Could he not have pleaded for his life, but for Snape to do what he promised?

“It was the perfect plan,” Snape says quietly. “If Potter had succeeded, I could have vanished from the country. As it is, I’m still here and doing what I can.”

It’s too unbelievable.

“How can I know you’re not lying just to make me comply?”

He smirks, uneven teeth showing between thin lips.

“You can’t. You’ll have to trust me.”

“How could I?”

“How indeed.” He gets up and turns away from her. “I hadn’t planned on telling you all of this quite yet. But…” He hesitates, and for the first time, it seems to her that his calm self-control is wavering. “It’s not pleasant to be in my position,” he says in the end. “It would be preferable if there were somebody to share my thoughts with…and more.”

No adequate answer comes to her mind – all that she heard this evening is too much to digest it at once.

“Go and sleep now,” Snape orders, his back still turned to her. She gets up and obeys in silence.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Three days later, nothing has changed. Hermione hasn’t been able to make up her mind one way or the other. She can’t simply believe what Snape told her, but she can’t dismiss it either – it makes too much sense. And what if it’s true, what if he _is_ on their side? She wants to believe it, desperately, and it’s precisely that which makes her wary of her own conclusions. Maybe it’s only because she wants it so much that it seems likely to her?

At least she has time and peace to think as much as she likes; except for dinner and at night, Snape doesn’t require her presence. She has to admit to herself that she misses the time they used to spend together in the evening in front of the fire for the last several weeks.

Right now, it is evening again, and instead of in the living room, Hermione is sitting on the couch she has hardly left for three days. All the thinking has given her a light head-ache, and she decides that it’s time for her to sleep. With a small yawn, she gets up and makes for the door to ask Snape for permission to go to bed.

Just in the moment when she’s about to touch the door handle, she hears a voice that makes her pause.

“Please, Severus. You’re the only one we can ask for help.”

It’s a voice she knows, it’s familiar, but she can’t tell who it belongs to.

“No, Lupin! It’s too dangerous.” 

Remus, yes. Now she recognises him as well as he speaks again.

“I know it’s a risk, but I think it’s worth it. You know she’s given us trouble more than once lately. It’s time someone…” His voice gets softer, and very slowly, very carefully, Hermione opens the door, just a tiny crack so that she can hear better. 

“You’re pushing it, werewolf!” Now it’s Snape again. “Severus, help us convince the Dark Lord to not kill all Mudbloods! Severus, help us to make him realise it’s a good idea to create a Mudblood House at Hogwarts and let the children be trained at least in basic magic! Severus, help to suggest this Muggle-protection law to Minister Malfoy! And now this! What will be next?”

“I know you’re right,” Remus agrees. “But as I said, it would be helpful for us to have her out of the way. And I promised Luna I’d do something about Neville. He won’t last long anymore; I just saw him last week. You know the only way to break the slavery bond is through death.”

“It’s too risky. She’s still one of the Dark Lord’s favourites. If we get caught –”

“We won’t. Luna and I thought up a plan. A good plan. And he will end up with me, I can make it happen. The Dark Lord promised me a reward for my good work with Fenrir and Ginny. I managed to convince them to send all their children to Hogwarts and have them become Death Eaters.”

There is a dry chuckle from Snape. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t believe that he fell for it. Doesn’t he know the children of two werewolves – werewolves who’re running wild even, in a pack of their own – won’t be loyal to anyone else? That neither the Dark Mark nor any magical oaths of loyalty will work with them?”

“Most people don’t, fortunately. He won’t know unless _you_ tell him.”

“Hardly. But what’s in it for me?” Snape demands, and Hermione has to use all her willpower to stay where she is and be quiet. Remus is asking Snape to help him kill Bellatrix and save Neville, and she wants to go out and beg him to say yes, he’ll do it.

“Gratitude. That’s what’s in it for you.”

“So, let me summarise: you want me to risk my position, my own – and thereby my slave’s – life, and all the _truly_ useful things we could still accomplish together, just for the undying gratitude of the two of you, and all that for Longbottom, whose mind more than likely is beyond saving anyway?”

The cynical way Snape says it makes Hermione want to scream.

“No,” Remus replies softly. “I wasn’t thinking of me, or Luna. I was thinking of Hermione. You said she’d seen him, and I’m sure if you helped him, it would make her very happy.” 

For a long while, there is only silence.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

Hermione has to bite her bottom lip and press her hand onto her mouth to not betray her presence.

“Thank you, Severus.”

“Don’t. Not before this is over. I still think it’s madness.”

Just as carefully as she opened it, she closes the door again, then slides down the wall next to it until she’s sitting on the floor.

It has to be true, she is certain of that now. Snape never betrayed them, never betrayed Dumbledore, or Harry. What she heard right now only makes sense if he told the truth. And that he’s willing to do this for her – she doesn’t know what to think of it. Could it be that she wasn’t so wrong after all? _Does_ he care about her? 

It takes her a while to think things through, but in the end, she has made up her mind.

Remus is gone when she enters the living room, where she finds Snape sitting in his usual armchair, staring into the fire. He doesn’t notice her, and only when she kneels down and puts his head into his lap does he become aware of her presence.

“I didn’t call you.”

“I know. But I’ve been thinking. I believe you, about Dumbledore and everything else.”

“Why?”

She shrugs – it’s better to not tell him she listened to his conversation with Remus. For some reason, she has the feeling that he wouldn’t like her to know about what he’ll do, and why.

“It makes sense, I think. And you were right: if you wanted nothing but a sex slave, there would have been more willing girls. And more experienced ones too.” 

Heat is slowly rising into her cheeks as she thinks about what she’s going to do. Nevertheless, she reaches up and begins to unbutton his robes from the lower seam.

“I…I’ve never done this before. You’ll have to be patient.” She and Ron never got to more than some touching and awkward fumbling.

Snape is silent, watching her hands intently. When she has opened the robe all the way up to his waist, he takes out his wand, and, like some days before, makes his briefs vanish. Again, his cock is halfway hard already, and now that she takes a closer look, she is surprised by the size – it’s much larger than Ron’s, as are the balls, resting in a nest of hair just as black as that on his head and legs.

“Well? Are you just going to stare? I trust you had basic anatomy lessons as early as primary school.” There is no venom in the words – if anything, Snape sounds faintly amused.

Hermione swallows hard. What on earth is she doing? What was she thinking? This is a crazy situation. Performing sexual favours on Snape only because –

_Shut up and do it!_

She takes a deep breath, exhales, and then, slowly, reaches out.

Snape’s cock hardens under her touch, the skin is soft and warm, and there is a salty taste when she carefully puts her lips and tongue on the head. It’s not unpleasant, and she experimentally draws slow circles around it with her tongue, exploring the different structures. Snape seems to like it – she can feel how his cock is now fully hard in her mouth, and when her tongue plays with the small, taut band of skin on the underside of the head, he draws a sharp breath. It’s encouraging, and, all shyness forgotten, she lets the fingers of her right hand wander through thick, curly hair until they reach the soft skin of his balls, stroking, caressing, while she starts sucking his cock in a slow, gentle rhythm. 

It doesn’t take long until she gets even bolder, sucking harder now, and in response, Snape’s breathing gets quicker and heavier. She looks up for a moment to see his face, and what she sees makes a strange warmth spread through her: his eyes are closed, his head pressed against the back of the armchair so she can see his long, slim neck, and his hands are clutching the armrests tightly. That she should be able to do this, to make the hint of a flush appear on his cheeks, make him pant, and slightly thrust his hips in the rhythm of her motions....

It’s just a short while later that the first groan comes from above her head, and suddenly, after only some more moments, long fingers work their way into her hair, gripping tightly. It hurts, but before she can react in any way, he gasps, hips jerking, and warm semen fills her mouth. She hadn’t thought this far, and she gags instinctively, some of it dripping down her chin onto his groin. But a second later, she manages to swallow what’s in her mouth and the rest that still comes, and then his grip on her hair relaxes and she can raise her head.

Snape’s eyes are still closed, and he looks different in a way she finds hard to define. Maybe it’s because this is the first time that she sees him relaxed instead of tense or calmly in control, or maybe it’s because after what she just did and because of what she now knows about him, she feels closer to him than she did all the previous months. Closer, in fact, than to anybody in a long time.

Whatever it might be, she likes it, and when a small voice in her head tells her that this is wrong and she should be ashamed of herself, she ignores it. She liked this, and she is allowed to like it, and she better _had_ like it too, because she can’t imagine that Snape will never ask – or rather order – her to repeat it. 

When Snape opens his eyes and looks at her, there is a small rush of embarrassment again, but then the hint of a smile appears on his lips, and she can’t help but return it.

“For a first time,” he says, sounding amused and serious at the same time, “you did extraordinarily well. I imagine you’ll get even better with practice.”

“Thank you,” is all she can think of saying, and again, he smiles barely noticeably.

When he’s cleaned up and redressed himself with a few quick spells, he pats his thigh, indicating for her to assume the position she’d been in before she had undressed him. She obeys, and as a reward, her hair is stroked the way she’s got used to. It’s strange, twisted, that she should think of it like that, as a reward, but now, after Snape revealed his true loyalties to her, all of this doesn’t seem quite as horrible anymore. They’re on the same side, they’re conspirators in a sea of enemies, and shouldn’t they be allowed to take whatever comfort they can get?

“Why did you change your mind?” He sounds genuinely curious, and she decides that this is a good time to discuss the future.

“I thought of what you’d done, what you’re still doing. And about what you said. That it wasn’t easy, and that you were wishing for someone to…to share your mind with, your work against the Dark Lord, and…well, also this. I…do understand that. And I…” She hesitates – it’s an awkward feeling to talk about such personal matters with Snape, and she is glad that she doesn’t have to look at him. “I’ve been…lonely. All this time in hiding, then the months here, with you barely speaking to me, and me thinking you were my enemy. And I don’t think I’ll get the chance to get close to anybody else in the foreseeable future. So…”

“So you decided it was a reasonable idea for the two of us to…work together in more than one way?” he finishes for her when she falls silent.

“Yes, I think you can call it that.”

It’s a partnership of convenience, but, as she slowly is realising, that doesn’t mean it has to be unpleasant.

“I’m impressed,” he admits. “You seem to have taken your friend Luna’s advice to heart.”

“She was right, although I needed some time to understand it.”

“Now that you do, there are some more things you need to understand.” His hand falls still, lying on her head heavily. “If this is supposed to work, you need to stop pretending to be my slave. You need to truly be it, to live it, not only in front of others. We can’t afford any suspicion.”

She hesitates for some moments, but then nods. “It makes sense.” It doesn’t surprise her that he knows she’d only been pretending.

“You think you can do it believably? Obey me, call me master and mean it?”

His doubt irritates her. “Of course I can!”

“I hope so.” 

He starts petting her head again, and some of the tension that had built up due to anger slowly leaves her.

“Is that why you wanted to tell me about your not being on V…the Dark Lord’s side only later? So you could first train me as a slave?”

“That was the plan. A flawed plan, I have to admit. I hadn’t believed you’d be quite as ready to work with me as you are now. There might be…unpleasant aspects to it. Very unpleasant. My position allows me to protect you from most Death Eaters, but not all. Some might request your…services, especially when I’m asking favours of them, and I won’t be able to deny them.”

It’s not a surprise – Hermione has been thinking about this even before she had known that Snape is no loyal Death Eater. It’s outside of what she can imagine at the moment. She’ll have to deal with it when the time has come. Bit by bit, she can understand how Luna turned into the woman she is today.

“I’ll have to do what’s necessary.”

There is something else she wants to know, but she’s not sure how to ask. In the end, bluntness seems the best course of action.

“If I’d refused anything sexual…” She pulls her head away from under his hand, looking him in the eyes. “Would you have forced me until I’d been compliant?”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. “Yes.”

Considering the circumstances, it’s what she’d expected, and at least he is honest. She decides that she likes it better this way.

.-.-.-.

Some weeks go by, and Snape is more demanding than he was before. He’s started to train her for serious, and now he is constantly giving her orders. Get him this, bring away that, serve tea, kneel perfectly motionless for x amount of time. Even the smallest mistake provokes punishment.

The first time he’d hit her, she’d become angry, but however much she dislikes it, the other Death Eaters must not doubt them for a second, and she can’t feign fear of something she has never experienced.

“You’ll be safe with me, and we’ll be able to achieve something.” That’s what Snape promised. “But at a price. Everything comes at a price.”

How right he is.

There are other punishments too – being bound and blindfolded, left to lie on the carpet next to his bed for hours, or being spanked on her bare arse, either by hand or with a thin, supple rod. It’s preparation, she suspects, for what might be asked from her by some Death Eaters, and maybe even Snape himself. When she asks, he confirms it without hesitation. If anybody had asked her before, she would have told them that of course, everyone was free to enjoy what was after his tastes, but that surely, this was not for her. Now, she is not so certain anymore. 

She would never have imagined, but there is something about this kind of treatment – approval or even praise when she does well, punishment when she doesn’t – that is appealing. It is, as she thinks one evening, kneeling at Snape’s feet and unbuttoning his robes to please him with her mouth like many evenings before, not dissimilar to the points system at Hogwarts. Back as a student, she had been proud at being praised and awarded points for correct answers, and the removal of House points had seemed an adequate punishment. This is more personal, though, more intense, more tangible, and that’s what makes it both, more enjoyable and more effective.

And there are more rewards than there is punishment by far. Snape saved her for her brains, he said it himself, and now he finally acts upon it. Beside training her, he brings her books from the library. Books on war, on tactics, and on all she needs to know about Wizarding slavery and pureblood society. He expects her to learn, and she does it with enthusiasm – after months of being locked up in a room with hardly anything to do, this is a breath of fresh air.

In the evening, Snape will still make her sit by his feet and pet her hair every day. She has come to cherish this time – it’s relaxing and almost gentle, and she no longer feels guilty about it. 

In the course of the next three months, she gets taken to several official occasions, including a banquet with the Dark Lord, and they’re both pleased with how she is perceived by Snape’s fellow Death Eaters.

“A pretty little thing,” Avery tells Snape after the banquet. “And well-trained too. I wouldn’t mind taking her under my wing for an hour or two.”

To Hermione’s relief, all Snape does is throw him a disdainful glance and leave, leading her with him. Avery, fortunately, does not belong to those who can’t be denied.

With each time, she feels more secure, more at ease with her position, although she always has to be on her guard, and the few slaves like her and Luna who are treated well – sometimes even have influence on their masters, as she learns – can’t talk at big events when they’re locked into waiting rooms with all the others. It’s too much of a risk; one of the other slaves could get suspicious and tell his or her master. Too many are broken and live in constant fear of punishment.

But there are the small events too, dinners, teas, and lunches with only two or three slaves present. She meets Percy at one of these occasions, when Snape is invited to dine with the Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, and his wife. Percy looks healthy, his collar is glittering golden, and he reveals to her that both, Lucius and Narcissa, are quite taken with their slave.

“You wouldn’t believe,” he says with a small smile, “how many of the Minister’s decisions, especially the Muggle-friendly ones, came to be while he was in bed, and not alone.” 

It’s comforting Hermione that she isn’t alone, that there are others, like Percy and Luna. Not everyone she knew is dead like Harry and Ron, defected like Remus and Ginny, or broken like Neville. And although Remus is a Death Eater now and doesn’t know where Snape’s loyalties truly lie, he loves Luna, treats her well, and is a valuable ally in all matters concerning the humane treatment of Muggles and wizards who’re not purebloods.

There is hope, however small it may be – at the moment, it is all they have.

.-.-.-.

“Hermione!”

Snape’s sharp voice interrupts her comforting words to another slave in the waiting room, and she hastily gets to her feet.

“Yes, Master?”

“Come, your presence is required.”

She nods and leaves the room after him, a queasy feeling in her stomach. They’re attending a dinner party at Rookwood’s, and this is the first time that she has been called away from the other slaves while their masters are having a meeting.

“We’ll go to the study now,” Snape informs her in a low voice as they slowly walk down a long corridor. “Travers and Rookwood are waiting for us there. They’re two of the most important members of the Committee for Mudblood Questions, which is currently debating whether or not to pass a law that would give Muggle-born witches and wizards the same status as Half-bloods in comparison to the Muggles. It would be a large step forward and protect them from many dangers. Lupin asked for my support in this matter, and Luna managed to get Percy Weasley to convince Minister Malfoy that it was an idea worth bringing up in the committee.”

With a sinking feeling, Hermione realises what he is getting at.

“The two just told me that they are willing to speak in favour of the law, which would decide the matter. But they request a favour of me, and this is where you come into play. Once we arrive, you will do as they say, whatever they may ask of you. Do you understand?”

Hermione knew it would happen one day, but now that the time has come, she isn’t sure if she can go through with it. She has no illusions about what will be asked of her, and the idea is terrifying. She hasn’t had sex before. She has pleased Snape with her mouth and her hands, but they hadn’t progressed to him touching her yet. It was something they had planned for the next few weeks.

“Couldn’t…somebody else…” She feels like a coward for asking, like she were betraying whoever else would take her place, but Snape cuts her off immediately.

“It’s not an option. They made it very clear that only you would suffice.” He stops and turns around to her, briefly taking her hands. “I know this is unfortunate, considering your inexperience, and I hadn’t expected it so soon, but there is no other way. If you wish, I can Obliviate you later, but right now, you _will_ obey.”

She nods and he lets go, now resuming his walk with quicker steps. It takes only another minute until they have arrived at the study.

“Wait,” she whispers as he puts his hand on the door handle. “Will you watch?”

“Yes. It’s safer that way.”

“Good.” It does make her feel safer too, although she knows he probably won’t interfere unless she were to be truly harmed – and that certainly doesn’t include a black eye or some bruises. But maybe it won’t be this bad; maybe Rookwood and Travers have more conventional tastes.

“And do you like it?” She has no idea where the question comes from, now of all times. “To watch?”

Snape stares at her intently, and she wonders what he is thinking. Maybe whether or not he should tell her the truth.

“I do,” he finally says, and she believes him. Does this make things better or worse?

“Now come.” 

Without waiting for a reply from her, Snape opens the door, grabbing her arm to lead her inside. She complies, lowering her eyes to the floor as is expected from her in the presence of her master and his companions.

“Look at me!” a rough voice commands, and she obediently looks up to face the tall, grey-haired wizard standing before her. He has cold blue eyes which he now lets roam over her naked body before a smirk appears on his face.

“She really is something to look at, Severus. I’m sure we’ll have fun with her.”

He reaches out to touch her, but is interrupted by the second Death Eater, who is sitting in a large armchair by the fireplace.

“Julius! As the host, don’t you think it should be my turn first?”

The grey-haired wizard lowers his hand, and the Death Eater who must be Rookwood beckons Hermione to come closer. She kneels down before the armchair, and a few seconds later, her chin is lifted so he can look her in the eyes.

“Very pretty indeed.”

The same can’t be said about him – his shoulders are hunched, his face disfigured by deep pock-marks. Hermione hastily looks down again when he lets go of her face – she surely doesn’t want to look at either of them longer than necessary.

“Now,” Rookwood says, rustling with his robes, “suck me off, my pretty girl!”

“Yes, Master.” It’s barely a whisper, but Rookwood isn’t displeased. Instead, he laughs.

“You subdued her well, Severus. Tell me, pretty girl, does he punish you often?”

Hermione hesitates for a second, then she nods softly. 

“Yes, Master.” It’s what he wants to hear, and it can only reflect well on Snape.

“Very good, it seems to work. Now let’s see if he taught you other things as well. Get started!”

Raising her head, Hermione sees his hard cock in front of her. It’s as big as Snape’s, but of a darker colour, with thin, greying hair around it. Everything in her screams that she can’t, that she won’t do it, but she ignores it. Slowly, she leans forward, beginning to caress his balls and the base of his cock while she puts her mouth on the head, drawing small circles around it with her tongue, like she usually does with Snape. Just like with him, she tells herself, do this like you would if it were him, and maybe you can forget that it’s not.

For a while, it seems to work – Rookwood is soon rocking his hips in the rhythm of her sucking. But then he starts groaning, a hoarse, ugly sound in comparison to Snape’s soft, quiet gasps of pleasure. It makes Hermione painfully aware that this is not Snape, that the cock in her mouth belongs to a man who would kill her without a second thought, and for a moment, she feels the almost irresistible urge to gag and pull her head away. But it won’t do, it will only get her punished, and she forces the urge down and instead sucks faster, hoping to get it over with. 

There is a yank at her hair that makes her eyes water, and she yelps in pain and surprise.

“Not…so fast!”

She hastily nods, and he lets go again to let her resume her work. As ordered, she returns to a slower rhythm, and after just a few moments, Rookwood is groaning again. It seems to drag on forever, and when he finally comes into her mouth, she can’t help but gag for real this time, his slimy seed running down her chin onto her breasts.

Luckily, Rookwood seems only amused by it, for he chuckles, watching her with a smirk.

“Now it’s your turn, Julius. Maybe you’ll be more to her tastes.”

Travers beckons her over to him – he has sat down in another armchair, and after he cleaned her chest with a quick spell, he, too, tells her to suck him off. Her mouth is hurting after only a minute, the muscles in her lips protesting against the prolonged activity, but after another minute or two, there is a numbness settling in – she doesn’t taste his cock anymore, doesn’t truly feel the warmth of his flesh in her mouth; everything is mechanical.

Travers hasn’t come yet when he stops her.

“I’ll have her now,” he tells Rookwood. “I wouldn’t be able to take much pleasure in it once you’re done with her.”

The words make Hermione shiver – what will Rookwood do? But before she can think about it any longer, Travers orders her to lie down on the couch on her back. She obeys, her legs shaking when she approaches the couch, and even when she has lain down like he told her, she can’t stop trembling.

Travers leans over her, cold eyes shining brightly. 

“What is it?” he whispers into her ear, his hot breath making her shiver even more. “One could almost think you had never done this before.”

The words to the trick: Hermione can’t hold back the tears anymore, although she does her best not to burst out sobbing, instead crying quietly – before he has even touched her.

“You _haven’t_ , right?” Travers murmurs with a delighted smile. “Oh, I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

Slowly, and surprisingly gently, he lets his hands roam her body, caressing first her cheek, then wandering down her neck, her breasts, and her stomach, until he arrives at the nest of curly brown hair between her legs. Hermione goes stiff – she can’t help it – but he doesn’t go further, instead moving his hand back to her right breast, pinching the nipple slightly. It hardens almost immediately, and then his mouth is on it, sucking softly, teeth nibbling and teasing. Hermione can’t help a gasp of surprise – and, as she realises with horror, also of pleasure. She has never felt anything like this before; his sucking causes a strange, urgent feeling between her legs, and it only intensifies when he starts stroking and pinching her other nipple. 

After a while, he pauses, again smiling at her. “Like that, don’t you? I can tell.”

She wants to yell at him to shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t like this, but fortunately, Snape’s training was good – no contradicting, whatever outrageous insult or insinuation he threw at her. So all she does is close her eyes, hoping it will be over soon. It’s not, though, because suddenly, her legs are forced apart, and then his mouth and tongue are between them, licking and sucking where nobody but she has ever touched before. It’s an incredible feeling, and it’s impossible to hold back the small gasps and moans coming over her lips. It’s no use telling herself that she can’t be aroused by this, that she mustn’t – she is, more than she has ever been, and this betrayal of her own body is worse than what Travers is doing to her.

He’s still at it, and while most of her wishes that he would finally stop, there is a tiny part that wants him to go on, do anything but take his mouth away. She’s still moaning, but suddenly, she cries out in pain as she feels a sharp, ripping pain where there had been pleasure only seconds ago – then the pain repeats itself, once, twice, again, and again, and she understands what happened. 

Travers is fucking her hard now, all fake gentleness gone, and she is soon once more crying weakly, unable to pull herself together even when he comes after a last thrust and quickly pulls out of her.

“Silly virgins,” he murmurs, slowly putting a finger inside her, slicking it with his come, before he draws it over her wet cheek. “No matter how nice I am, they always cry.”

If only it were over now, but it’s not, and as Hermione curls up on the couch instinctively after Travers has moved away, she’s reminded of it. Her arm is grabbed roughly, and she is dragged to her feet.

“You can sleep later, pretty girl. Now it’s time to play.”

There is something warm running down her legs, and it hurts to stand, but she doesn’t dare disobey. 

“We’re going to play a game,” Rookwood informs her. “You have been a very bad slave, and now you’re awaiting punishment, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master.” She can imagine where this is going, and she dreads it.

“Very well. Kneel.”

She does as he says, kneeling down in front of him, eyes lowered to the ground.

“You’ve been a naughty girl.” Rookwood is almost purring. “Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, Master.” She has no difficulties sounding appropriately contrite in this situation – she couldn’t speak louder or make her voice shake less even if she tried.

“You’ve been impertinent, contradicting me.”

“I…I’m very sorry, Master.”

There is a quick movement at the periphery of her vision, and then she’s slapped hard enough to make her sway to the side, and she has to support herself with one hand against the floor.

“Sorry!” Rookwood snaps. “Being sorry doesn’t change what you did, does it?”

“N-no Master.” Hermione’s cheek is burning, and she is sure this was only the beginning.

“And what do you suggest I should do, then?”

“I…I…” She can’t say it, can’t ask for it, and her silence earns her another brutal slap.

“Well?”

“P-please…” Hermione draws a deep breath. “Please, Master, punish me?”

“Oh, I will, believe me. Get up!”

She struggles to her feet, still looking down on the floor, and like before, he lifts her chin to make her look at him.

“Do you think a few slaps are enough, pretty girl, or does your misbehaviour warrant more drastic measures?”

For a few moments, all she can do is stare into his eyes in silence – there is a look of cruel anticipation on his face, and she knows she’ll only be hurt even worse if she doesn’t play along.

“More…” Her voice fails her, and she swallows hard, trying to hold back the tears once more burning in her eyes. “More, drastic measures, Master. A few slaps won’t teach me my lesson.”

He grins, nodding slowly. “How right you are.”

Before she knows what is happening, he’s grabbed a handful of her hair, hitting her hard with his fist in the face, then driving it into her stomach. She gasps for air, her legs giving in under her, and there is another cruel pain as she’s held up by her hair alone.

“I’ll teach you to obey your master!” Rookwood snarls, letting go of her hair, and she slumps to the floor, where she instinctively curls up tightly. But after just a few seconds, her arms and legs are forced apart, she’s turned on her back, and then Rookwood is taking her, his trusts even more painful than Travers’ before, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her upper arms and shoulders.

“Look at me!”

She’d closed her eyes, and when she doesn’t obey immediately, she receives another hard slap in the face. 

“I want you to look at me, or you’ll regret it!”

Opening her eyes, she sees his ugly face only inches apart from hers, his alcohol-laden breath rolling over her with each of his thrusts. Thankfully, after a while, a merciful numbness clouds her mind – she feels strangely detached from what is happening to her. She doesn’t truly notice when he comes and pulls away, and only the pain when he grabs her arm and drags her to her feet again makes her realise that it’s finally over.

“Now, pretty girl,” Rookwood drawls in a low voice, still holding her up by one arm, “do you think you’ve been appropriately punished?”

Hermione is barely able to concentrate on the words, only nodding weakly when he stops speaking.

“Answer me!”

“I…y-yes, Master.” Let it be over now, please, don’t let him start again!

“Well…” He lets his eyes wander over her excruciatingly slowly, then he shakes his head. “I think there’s still something missing.”

He lets go of her arm, but before she can fall, his fist connects with her chin, sending her crashing into the wall. There are more blows, but she barely feels them anymore, and then, thankfully, everything fades to black.

.-.-.-.

When Hermione awakes, the first thing she is aware of is pain. She feels battered all over, her pulse is throbbing unpleasantly in her ears, and there are a soreness between her thighs and an ache in her abdomen which make her curl up on her side with a small whimper.

“Hermione. Come, look at me.”

The voice is soft, and when she cracks her eyes open to take in her surroundings, the first thing she sees is Snape, sitting on the edge of the bed she’s lying in, looking down at her with a concerned expression. She is in _his_ bed, she realises now - why would he let her into his bed? And why does he seem so worried? 

“How are you feeling?”

She sighs, closing her eyes again; even the soft light of the candles hurts and makes her head ache.

“Sore,” she murmurs. “Everything hurts. What happened?”

“Wait.” Her head is lifted carefully, and then a glass is held to her lips. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”

She drinks obediently, and Snape lays her head down on the pillow again, beginning to rub her back in slow, gentle motions. It’s soothing, and together with the potion, it helps her feel a little better within a few minutes.

Finally, she looks up at him again, and he takes away his hand.

“You don’t remember what happened?”

“No, I…am I sick, or—” But even as she speaks, her memory returns, and she instinctively sits up, backing away from him slightly.

“Rookwood…” Her voice is trembling all of a sudden, and her body, too, is shaking. “Rookwood and Travers, they…” She can’t go on speaking, instead pressing her hand on her mouth tightly, her eyes filling with tears.

Snape reaches out to touch her, but she backs away again, frantically shaking her head. She knows he probably wants to help her, but all she can think of is what the two Death Eaters did with her, and if he touches her, she knows she will scream. There is a weird dizziness clouding her mind, a sharp voice cutting through it after a few moments.

“Breathe!”

She doesn’t understand, and then her arm is grabbed painfully.

“Breathe, Hermione!”

She gasps, trying to pull away from the grip on her arm, but it’s too tight, and instead, all of a sudden she is clutched against Snape’s chest, her face pressed into the thick fabric of his robes. Again, she tries to free herself, but can’t, and then she is sobbing uncontrollably, taking deep, shuddering breaths, with Snape holding her tightly and petting her head until, after a long while, her sobs die down and she’s only sniffling weakly.

“You’re safe now,” he tells her, still stroking her hair in the way that she’s grown so accustomed to and that right now comforts her more than his words. As if of their own volition, her hands have worked their way into the folds of his wide robes, clinging to the fabric.

“I wanted it to be you,” she whispers. It doesn’t matter that his tastes are in fact quite similar to what his fellow Death Eaters did. “The first time…I just wanted it to be with someone who…who cared.” 

It’s an admission that makes her feel flushed and like a silly little girl. If she is to survive and be useful, she can’t afford such weaknesses.

“I would have liked that as well,” Snape answers, holding her a little tighter. He sounds sincere, and it’s comforting. “Do you want me to Obliviate you? Then we could do it like you wanted it to be.”

It takes some moments of thinking, but in the end, she shakes her head. “No. The next time I have to do this…it would be just as bad as this time. Now at least I know how it is.”

Snape is silent for a while, then he gently makes her let go of his robes, distancing himself from her slightly to look her in the eyes.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, and while she still feels miserable, a small, pleasant warmth spreads out in her chest. Slowly, she leans forward, her eyes never leaving his, and when their lips meet for the first time in a soft kiss, she knows what she wants instead of being Obliviated.

“I want you to do what they did,” she says when they break the kiss, and she is surprised at the determination in her own voice. “Everything. That way, when I have to think of them, I can think of you too. It will help.”

Snape nods, pulling her close to make her rest against him again.

“All right.”

For him, she knows, it will be a pleasure. But she refuses to think about that, and about the fact that he might have enjoyed what he saw the other two doing. He does care, he protects her as much as possible, and she can’t allow anything else to matter.

.-.-.-.

It’s almost a year since Hermione came to live with Snape, and while she has seen Luna a few times at official occasions when they both had to accompany their masters, and Luna has visited her a few times at Hogwarts, this is the first time that Snape lets her visit with Luna. 

“We’ve got a surprise for you,” he tells her before he Floos her over to leave her in Remus’s care for the next few hours.

When Snape is gone again, Remus leads Hermione out of the study with the fireplace connected to the Floo.

“They’re in the living room,” he says with a small smile, and before Hermione has time to think about it, they’re there. She stops dead in the doorway, staring in silence at the two persons sitting on the couch.

“I’ll leave the three of you alone,” Remus says behind her. “I’ll get you at five.”

She nods mechanically, unable to take her eyes off Luna and Neville. He looks better – he’s dressed in robes and not quite as thin anymore, although he still seems pale and fragile, and there is a soft, black cloth wrapped around his head, hiding the terrible scars where his eyes used to be.

“Hermione.” Luna smiles at her, but makes no move to get up. Neville is leaning against her, her arms wrapped loosely around him. “Come, sit with us.”

Slowly, Hermione approaches. It’s been months since Snape and Remus discussed saving Neville, and she’d already feared that it was impossible, that they’d discarded the idea again.

“So, is she…” Hermione doesn’t want to say Bellatrix’ name in front of Neville. “I heard Snape and Remus talk about it. It seems they succeeded.”

Luna nods. “Yes, two months ago. We were lucky that there were no problems. The Dark Lord gave him to Remus immediately.”

Neville hasn’t moved yet, hasn’t shown at all that he is aware of Hermione’s presence. As she carefully sits down next to him, Luna raises her hand to caress his cheek.

“Neville? Come, wake up.”

It takes a few moments until he reacts, whispering something so softly that Hermione can’t hear it.

“We’ve got a visitor,” Luna explains.

Hermione can see him tense immediately, but Luna reacts quickly, murmuring soothing words and petting his hair.

“It’s only Hermione,” she says in the end, when he’s more relaxed again. “She came to see for herself that you’re with us now. That you’re getting better.” She briefly smiles at Hermione, but it looks sad. Hermione can imagine why – it will take a long time until Neville will truly be better. 

“Luna is right,” she now agrees, trying to keep her voice as soft as possible. “I came to see you. I’m glad you’re with her and Remus now.”

There is silence for a little while; Neville doesn’t move, nor do Hermione or Luna. Then, finally, he slowly sits up, turning away from Luna, one thin, trembling hand reaching out into Hermione’s direction. She carefully takes it into her own. At first, Neville winces, but then he squeezes lightly, and, to Hermione’s utter amazement, attempts a small, shaky smile.

He _will_ get better, she is sure of it now, and it gives her hope. While their old world and their old lives are erased, not all is lost. 

They’ll make it through, somehow.


End file.
